


In which Gabrielle meets Sophie and Maude

by archangelwithashotgun, Whit Merule (whit_merule)



Series: Puppy love [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, F/F, Fem!Gabrielle, Fem!Sam, Fluff, Genderbending, Trans Female Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-05
Updated: 2017-03-05
Packaged: 2018-09-28 11:29:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10098530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/archangelwithashotgun/pseuds/archangelwithashotgun, https://archiveofourown.org/users/whit_merule/pseuds/Whit%20Merule
Summary: “I don’t need anexcuse,” Sam grumbled loudly to the air. “What Ineedis a foot massage and a damnednight off.”She had one blissful, peaceful moment to regret saying that.Then there was a tiny delighted adorable person in an aggressively violet (non-uniform) skirt trying to remove her shoes in the middle of the store.“Gabrielle.”It didn’t sound like a convincing reprimand, even to herself.“Mygoddessneeds her feet rubbed,” Gabrielle declared, busy with laces. “Itcannot wait.”“Your ability to pronounce italics never ceases to impress,” said Sam. “Uh. Sorry, sir, I’ll be with you in a minute. My colleague gets a bit mad when she has to work the opening shift.”“Madlyin love with you.”In which the day starts with Gabrielle flopping dramatically all over the place and whining about having to work at 5:30 am, and ends with naked cuddles and Sam's breasts getting named.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Oops, it grew. 
> 
> archangelwithashotgun was going to have a lot of early shifts at work. I comforted her with the idea of Gabrielle moaning and complaining in the same situation. It turned into RP. Which I then edited into fic format. What a shame.

_5:45 am_

“Why.”

Sam had learned a lot about Gabrielle in the six weeks they’d been working together.

“Whyyyyy.”

The complete lack of impulse control, for example. That was really noticeable. The way she got almost belligerently protective of the younger puppies, and could get sidetracked for half an hour or more teaching kids and baby animals how to talk to each other. The adorably, ridiculously large appetite for such a small body (though it made sense given she practically vibrated with energy 24/7). The way her eyes went brandy-gold when they caught the light and—um.

“Sammy. Sam. Sam. Sammikins. _Whyyyyyyyy_.”

Mostly what stuck out right now, though, was the fact that Gabrielle was really really bad at working the opening shift.

“Gabrielle, stop flopping dramatically around on the dog food crates and do your job.”

“It is cruel and unusual torture to have me operate machines at 5:30 in the morning, Sammy. You’re just asking that I drive it straight into the display shelves.”

“Which would be a hell of a lot more convincing if I hadn’t caught you wearing a Stetson and going _yeehaw_ on the forklift ten minutes ago.”

“How can I be expected to stay awake when you insist on wearing your damn uniform this early instead of stripping down to your tanktop and giving me optimal cleavage view.”

“Where did you find that hat, anyway?”

Gabrielle flopped over onto her stomach. Then she opened her eyes. They _gleamed_.

“You sure you want to know?”

“… I’m rethinking it.”

“Oh, you _do_.” The slow evil glee broke across Gabrielle’s face. “I stole it.”

“… From?”

“Your brother.”

“… Why does Dean have a Stetson?”

“He doesn’t anymore.”

“No, wait, why did he have one _in here_. He doesn’t even work here.”

“I can’t tell you that.” Gabrielle sat up and adjusted the hat primly on her head. “I promised I wouldn’t tell what he and Castiel were getting up to on the packing crates yesterday.”

Sam eyed her. Then she eyed the pile of packing crates. There _was_ a suspiciously dust-free section of the tarpaulin covering the back stock of dried food….

“Well, when I say _promised_. I mean more. I snatched the hat and ran away shouting ‘this is the price of my silence’ while they were being all flustered and embarrassed and trying to put their clothes back on. Or. Dean was being flustered. Cas was mostly laughing at him and telling him that’s what he gets for seducing him in his workplace.”

“How is this my life?” Sam enquired of the ceiling.

“I made cowboy noises,” Gabrielle added, “to support the ambiance.”

“Nope. Nope. I do not want to know what my brother and my colleague get up to involving that needs—nope.”

“I should get them both cowboy boots for Christmas,” said Gabrielle thoughtfully. “Wipe-clean ones. What good is money if I can’t buy expensive presents for my friends and make Dean’s face do that stupid twisty thing.”

“… Castiel would wear them. You know he would.”

“That’s why he’s my favourite. Apart from you, my distant beautiful goddess who won’t agree to a second date.”

“It wasn’t a date, it was just dinner.” Partly because if Sam once gave in to her she was pretty sure she’d go up like smoke, and partly because it was maybe sort of a bit fun to watch Gabrielle try.

“What do you think—assless chaps for Dean?”

“… _Job_ , Gabrielle. You have one. Try to work.”

 

_10 am_

Dean stormed into the store.

Sam had torn him a new one over the phone (she couldn’t talk to Castiel about it because if she did it would have to be _official_ and she didn’t officially know and was determined not to because she liked Cas, so, brother it was). Dean had spluttered a lot and gone very quiet and hung up. He had also, apparently, driven stupidly fast to get here, just so he could… yep. Stalk up to Gabrielle behind the counter and snatch the hat off her head and glare a lot.

Still without a word.

Which was probably meant to preserve his manly dignity—what he had of it—but of course this was Gabrielle so she gleefully yelled at his retreating back, “That hat was _recompense_ , Winchester, recompense for my _trauma_.”

Dean’s retreat sped up.

“My poor eyes! _Will these little eyes never be clean_.”

From the cat toy section, Sam called “Stop yelling at my brother, Gabrielle, and give the lady her change.”

“But _Saaaaaaam_ ,” whined Gabrielle at top volume, “the things he put me through! I am a _good virtuous lesbian lady_ , I shouldn’t have to see that many dicks in my life _ever_.”

“It was two, you’re bisexual, and—stop talking about dicks in front of the customers.”

The customer in question looked far too amused. Sam secretly suspected most of their regulars of being far too invested in her and Gabrielle’s _non-existent_ relationship. There were rumours of a betting pool.

“ _Her_ trauma, she says,” muttered Dean from the door, also at top volume. “Cas wouldn’t stop laughing at me. I fell over my own trousers.”

“Don’t you start,” yelled Sam at her brother, because Gabrielle’s habit of projecting every moment across the entire store was sort of contagious.

“She mocked my sex noises, Sammy. Who _does_ that?”

Gabrielle beamed. “Oh, don’t worry, honeybunch. It wasn’t just your sex noises. I was mocking Castiel’s too.”

“And she _narrated_ —hey, leave Cas alone.”

“Cas is my bestest bud, we mock everything together. Including each other. But mostly you.”

“ _Dean_. You are banned from this store, because I say so. Go away.”

Dean grumbled and vanished.

“But my angel, he is so much fun with those adorable freckly blushes.”

“Gabrielle. Finish those transactions then you’re taking out the trash.”

“You made me do that that half an hour ago. Because I petted your adorable perfect butt.”

“Take them out again. Then you’re scrubbing them. Go.”

Sometimes, Sam felt like her whole life was a struggle just to _not_ let Gabrielle bowl absolutely everything over and leave delicious ridiculous chaos in her wake.

 

***

 

Before her lunch break, Gabrielle had had to take out the bins twice more, scrub the employee bathroom top to bott—to _floor_ , Gabriel, _don’t_ pet my butt again _—_ rinse and disinfect the dog baths, and rearrange an entire aisle of aquarium products, dusting each one (and each shelf) individually.

The puppies and kittens took turns ‘helping’. (Though, not where there were strong cleaning products involved. Sam and Gabrielle were in adamant agreement about _that_.)

 

***

 

_4 pm_

“You know, your brother has kind of a nice butt.”

Sam almost dropped a fish tank on her toe.

Gabrielle’s face peeped quizzically around the end of the aisle. “Aw, Sammy. Jealous? Don’t worry, my queen of hearts, I like your butt better.”

Sam glared. “Gabrielle. Bird cages. Go.”

Gabrielle snorted, wiggling her fingers over her shoulder as she turned to head towards the birds. “Keep this up, my sweet luscious angel, and there won’t be any cleaning to be done at the end of the night. We’ll be able to leave early and you won’t be able to use ‘oh, I need to work late’ as an excuse to avoid a second date.”

Sam groaned, and took a moment out of the sight of any customers to slump against the shelves. Because she _had_ been working too much lately. Too many of their other employees were new, and didn’t know how to take initiative, and one of the kittens had been sick all over the back area yesterday, and the books were a mess, and her coursework was stepping up lately and she had a seriously major exam next week and…

“I don’t need an _excuse_ ,” Sam grumbled loudly to the air. “What I _need_ is a foot massage and a damned _night off_.”

She had one blissful, peaceful moment to regret saying that.

Then there was a tiny delighted adorable person in an aggressively violet (non-uniform) skirt trying to remove her shoes in the middle of the store.

“ _Gabrielle_.”

It didn’t sound like a convincing reprimand, even to herself.

“My _goddess_ needs her feet rubbed,” Gabrielle declared, busy with laces. “It _cannot wait_.”

“Your ability to pronounce italics never ceases to impress,” said Sam. “Uh. Sorry, sir, I’ll be with you in a minute. My colleague gets a bit mad when she has to work the opening shift.”

“Madly _in love with you_.”

“She usually calms down around three o’clock. More or less.”

The customer blinked. Then he started to back out of the aisle.

“I was just after… bird seed?”

Not a regular. Damn.

“Uh. Sorry. Two aisles down and on your left? I thought you were in love with my brother’s hat. Sorry, sir, I’ll be with you as soon as I convince her to tie my shoelaces back up.”

“The hat? Pssshaw. That was a prize for my silence. Which is moot because I told you everything.”

“… about that…”

“… And it cannot compare with the light of my life standing before me needing her feet rubbed.”

“Gabrielle.”

“I mean, it doesn’t even _have_ feet.”

“ _Gabrielle_. If. _If_ I agree to _maybe_ consider letting you drive me home tonight to give me a foot massage.”

Gabrielle went very still.

“… Will you do your damned job for then next three hours?”

“… My _QUEEN OF HEARTS_.”

Sam had always thought that “bright eyes” was a metaphor. But no, they did actually _light up_.

“Maybe. _Consider_.”

Why was she smiling? She hadn’t meant to smile.

Gabrielle smoothed her way up from crouching to snuggle in against Sam, where she was still leaning against… oh look, artificial skulls for fish tanks. Classy.

“Turn that ‘maybe consider’ into a ‘definitely allow’ and _maybe_ I’ll do my job with very frequent intervals of excited bouncing and giddiness.”

“Mm, I’d rather keep the bouncing to a minimum during store hours, so we’re sticking with the maybe for now. Shoo - go take that delivery.”

Gabrielle _bounced_ out the back.

 

***

 

According to Sam’s estimates, approximately 96.8% of the customers over the remainder of the day got a detailed rundown on the fact that Gabrielle’s goddess was allowing her to take her home tonight.

Sam worked very hard on keeping her expression huffy and tolerant. And not smiling. Much. Or letting herself swell up inside with affection.

Professionalism was a thing, after all.

 

***

 

_6 pm_

“… yes, one of _everything_ ,” Gabrielle insisted into the phone. “And also dessert. The _best_ dessert. Suitable for a _goddess_. Who is justifiably exhausted and needs coddling.”

“So, I assume you’re not on your phone during business hours.”

Gabrielle held up one imperious finger. Then she pointed it at her bare wrist, where a watch would be if it was in fact there.

6:01. _Barely_ reasonable. Especially since this call had clearly been going on for longer than a minute.

… Not that Sam cared in a general way if employees made personal calls at work so long as they did their job. But that wasn’t the point.

Sam took off her apron and her uniform jersey, and flopped onto the chair outside the dog baths.

Gabrielle smirked at her. Then she said into the phone, “Twenty minutes? Perfect. No, don’t tell me the price, that’s positively _plebeian_ , who cares about prices nowadays anyway it’s all just theoretical numbers on plastic.” And hung up.

Sam lifted an eyebrow.

“So,” Gabrielle said, eyes sparkling, “we’re making a stop on the way to your house.”

“I _can_ feed myself,” protested Sam feebly.

“But why _would_ you.”

 

***

 

Gabrielle was staring at her in fascinated adoration across her boring rickety old kitchen table.

What, it wasn’t Sam’s fault she hadn’t tasted anything this good in… maybe months.

She had to close her eyes to enjoy it better.

When she opened them, the seat opposite her was empty and somebody was trying to remove her shoes under the table.

“ _Eating_ ,” she pointed out, with her mouth full.

“Just go with it,” piped up the voice from under the table. “Your poor feet have been all smothered in shoe for almost fifteen hours. Let them breathe!”

“Which is what you won’t be able to do if you take them off while you’re under there.”

“I could never hate the smell of your feet.”

“That’s the most romantic thing anyone’s said to me.”

Gabrielle patted her calf. Which definitely didn’t make Sam squeeze her eyes together and try not to think of other things Gabrielle could do while down there.

Her feet came free, and she curled her tired, sticky toes against the cool air, self-conscious. Gabrielle patted the top of one foot fondly, then ran her knuckles firmly along the instep.

Sam gasped involuntarily, aching swollen flesh unknotting under the touch. Then Gabrielle’s hands were gone and she was scrambling out from under the table, leaving Sam blinking.

“You’re right though, they are kind of gross. New idea! Do you have a tub or a basin or a bucket or something?”

“Under the sink?”

Gabrielle pounced.

Another minute and she disappeared under the table again, with a clean sponge, a hand towel, and a tub of warm water with a few drops of—

“Is that lavender oil?”

“I came prepared!”

“… A foot bath. With essential oils.”

Sam sighed and leaned back in her chair. This was clearly too surreal to actually be real, so she was under no obligation to stop it, right?

“And then when you’re done eating we can Netflix and chill!”

“… The deal was a ride home and a foot _massage_.”

Her feet were lifted reverently, one by one, and placed in the water. It felt divine.

“Netflix while I rub your feet. To make them chill.”

“ _Gabrielle_.”

Sam was getting really out of practice with sounding stern when she said that word. It had passed all the way through ‘fond’ and was heading toward ‘breathless’.

“And your calves.”

Sam groaned. Gabrielle did divine things to her feet with the sponge.

“Calves need love too, you know. They do a lot of work, keeping those statuesque legs upright all day.”

“Foot massage, Gabrielle.”

Gabrielle trailed wet fingers up Sam’s ankle to the hem of her work pants.

“… though my calves have been killing me lately.”

“And you know all those muscles do connect up behind your knees then up the back of your thighs.”

“Gabrielle. Feet.”

“Hm. You should probably get changed into a skirt.”

“I think you can manage my _feet_ just fine in jeans.”

Gabrielle blithely ignored this, patted each of Sam’s feet dry, dragged the bucket away then popped out from under the table. “There! Now, don’t you worry about the clean-up, I’ll handle that, you just go and change into something more… comfortable.”

Sam leaned back, arms crossed, and eyed her.

It was possibly the exhaustion, but she was feeling kind of giddy.

… It definitely wasn’t the exhaustion.

Gabrielle bounced a bit on her toes and made shooing motions.

And it was that simple to slip from “making a show of resistance” to “see how far Gabrielle is willing to take this if I keep playing the game”.

Sam arched an eyebrow.

Gabrielle pouted. Then she brightened. “Oh! Hey, can I borrow a t-shirt or something, I’ve been wearing these for _hours_. And your t-shirts are basically like dresses, right?”

“There are shorts you can wear too, you know.”

Gabrielle blew a raspberry.

“Or even sweatpants.”

Gabrielle shrugged, hopeful and eager, and Sam’s stomach heated up. “Oh, don’t you worry about me! You get changed and work out what you want to watch. I’ll just hop into the shower!”

“… wait, _what_.”

“Can’t properly adore divine feet while I’m all sweaty and gross, can I? Toodles!”

She even waggled her fingers over her shoulder as she danced out of the room.

“So you’re, what, moving in now?” Sam called.

Gabrielle’s head popped back in. “Would you like me to?”

Sam pointedly buried her face in her hands. Which conveniently hid the grin.

One of Gabrielle’s shoes hit the cupboard.

Sam raised her head, and stood up. Just in time to see Gabrielle shedding clothes all the way to the bathroom.

Apparently she was no tidier at home than at work.

… Sam wasn’t staring.

(much)

(beyond what was totally reasonable in the circumstances)

 

***

 

Gabrielle had been in the shower for only three minutes, and Sam had just had time to change—tank top and yoga pants because she _wasn’t_ wearing a skirt but she also wasn’t above teasing—when she came to a terrifying realisation.

If there wasn’t something right there for Gabrielle to change into when she emerged from the shower, she would probably not be above strutting wet and naked through Sam’s house to find it.

 _Shit_.

Sam spent a minute distracted by that image.

Then another one weighing up the relative risks of that possibility and of opening the bathroom door for long enough to drop some clothes inside (because what was the chance Gabrielle would deliberately choose that moment to emerge?).

Either way, naked Gabrielle.

…. more distraction.

“ _Sammy_ ,” Gabrielle carolled, muffled by walls. “You little hedonist! Apricot and almond body wash! No wonder you smell so good!”

Now she was never going to be able to smell that again without thinking about Gabrielle naked in her shower.

Which was more or less the point at which the front door slammed.

Fuck. _Dean_.

Sam rolled her eyes at the ceiling. Then she darted out of her room and toward the bathroom. Which she reached just as Dean came out of the kitchen, frowning at the line of scattered clothes on the floor.

“Uh. Hey, Dean, do you think you could do a quick grocery run, I forgot—”

“Sammy! Coming out in a minute, ready or not!”

Dean’s face took on a very pained expression.

“ _Tell_ me that there isn’t a crazy sex-mocking hat thief in our shower right now.”

The water shut off.

Sam looked down at the shirt in her hands.

“… Yeah, I got nothing.”

Dean looked at the shirt. Dean looked at the clothes on the floor. Dean looked at the bathroom door.

“Oh, _hell_ no.”

“Shouldn’t you be at your boyfriend’s house tonight, Dean?” Sam hissed.

“You know what? I’m really starting to think I should.”

“Doing your kinky shit that I didn’t want to know about _behind closed doors_ and not _in my store_.”

Only apparently she should have raised her voice more. Because at that point the bathroom door opened and out swanned Gabrielle.

“Let us rock and roll, my queeeEEEEEEE.”

Dean did a horrified double-take. Then he stared resolutely at the ceiling.

“Nope,” he said grimly. “Nope, nope, nope. Not happening. Gay, gay, gay, _super_ gay, not looking.”

Gabrielle’s dismay was much more short-lived, probably because it was fundamentally impossible for her to be anything but gleeful around a shocked Dean.

She leaned against the bathroom door—arms crossed under her breasts, which propped them up and made them look rather nice, _not that Sam was looking but she could just see the shape even without looking directly at them_ —and out came the smirk.

“Cassie throw you out, sweetums? Look, Sammy, he’s doing the freckly blush thing again!”

Sam buried her face in the tee and groaned.

“This is _not_ my life.”

“No, darling of my heart, because your life was boring and empty without me and I am come to bring sparkles and rainbows to it.”

“Dean, get the hell out.”

“Aw look, Winchester, you’ve made her all tense again. And I was doing such a nice job of getting her to relax!”

Dean opened his mouth. Then he closed it again.

“Feet. _Only!_ ” snapped Sam from the shirt.

Dean backed away. “Don’t want to know.”

Gabrielle waggled her eyebrows. “Oh, sure, it always _starts_ with the feet. Then it ends up with me under the table and—”

“Cas. Right. Cas. I’m going to _Cas’ house_ right the hell now.”

“Make good choices!” called Gabrielle smugly.

“Tell my sister that!” Dean hollered over his shoulder.

The door slammed.

Gabrielle literally _fell to her knees_ laughing.

Sam looked at the ceiling to count to ten.

“Come on, Sammy, you gotta admit… his _face_!”

Sam gave up at seven and threw the shirt at her, not that it did much to conceal anything. “Oh my god put that _on_ you child.”

“His _face_ —!”

“Gabrielle, this isn’t funny.”

“You know it is.” Gabrielle climbed weakly to her feet, still cackling, and poked Sam in the ribs. “Which is why you’re laughing.”

“Am not.”

“You _child_ ,” Gabrielle mocked, grinning widely. Then she pulled on the shirt, wriggling a little as she pulled it over her head, which Sam also didn’t look at. Or at the way it came down to her mid thighs and half slipped off one shoulder. “Come on, Sammy, you need to watch a nice comedy. Go pick something and I will provide dessert and massage oil.”

Sam smirked at her—no, she _rolled her eyes_ at her. “The massage is over, Gabrielle.

“Pfft, haven’t even started. Also, your shoulders need a rub now, look at you, they’re all clenched up.” She wiggled her hands. “Come on, I’ve got magic fingers.”

Not cute. Definitely not adorable. Definitely not sparkly beautiful eyes.

Sam shook her head wearily. “I want pecan ice cream.”

Gabrielle bounced and clapped her hands with delight. “My queen commands me!”

Darted away. Darted back.

“You. Netflix. Get on it.”

With Gabrielle out of the room Sam indulged in a fond, amused sigh, and went to get the laptop set up.

She’d got herself stretched out on the couch and some of the movies she wanted to watch queued up on the screen by the time Gabrielle returned.

“I decide we don’t need bowls. We can share from the tub!”

Then Gabrielle was cuddling up at her end of the sofa and hauling Sam’s feet into her lap and her hair was casually dripping over Sam’s feet and she was _naked under the shirt_ and Sam was probably not going to survive this night, was she.

“Look at these luscious lovely long limbs”—running a reverent hand along a spandex-clad calf—”my goddess has rewarded me.”

“… Gabrielle, you’re getting my feet wet.”

“Poor battered dear things need some love. Hm. I should have washed them with my hair. That’s what you do to divine feet, right?”

Sam went speechless.

It was a strange thing but the fact that Gabrielle repeated things like that all the time— _queen_ and _goddess_ —didn’t make them lose their impact, like Sam would have thought. At first they’d just felt like teasing, exaggeration, flirting. For a while they’d felt like mockery, deliberate irritation or even deliberate misleading. Then Sam had begun, cautiously, to find them sweet. Then endearing. And somehow, gradually, so she’d hardly noticed… she was beginning to believe them.

She’d never felt like she _deserved_ admiration before. Let alone love. And Gabrielle gave it, so unbelievably freely.

The cap of the massage oil clicked. Then it was gliding over her skin, warm and slick, guided by clever gentle hands.

Then Gabrielle picked one of her feet up and kissed it, like it was nothing.

“Well? Aren’t you going to hit play?”

“Did you—did you just _kiss_ my _foot_?”

Gabrielle blinked, eyes mischievous. “Absolutely not.” Fingers pressed gently into the ball of Sam’s foot. “Why, is there somewhere else you’d prefer?”

 _Yes. So very much yes_.

Sam rubbed a distracted hand over her mouth, which was tingling for no good reason. “… No. There is fine.”

Gabrielle’s eyes gleamed. She practically purred. Then she picked up the other foot, and kissed that too. More softly. More lingering. Another kiss, a trail of them tracing delicious tickles all the way up the arch.

Sam hit ‘play’ in a desperate sanity-preserving bid.

Gabrielle set herself to the task of a foot massage with care and dedication and slow gentle strokes and occasional kisses.

Obviously foot massages were always sensual to a degree, but… wow. Sam hadn’t realised how many nerve endings there were there.

She bit her bottom lip, and didn’t say a word. Not going to give Gabrielle the satisfaction. She was a _lady_ , after all.

The movie had been playing for five minutes when Gabrielle murmured, almost below hearing, “Are you always this… persuadable… once you’ve taken off the manager’s hat?”

Sam might have been able to muster something sarcastic in reply, except that right on _persuadable_ Gabrielle drew a single careful nail down the centre of one sole.

Her toes curled. She tried to force them not to.

“Gotta… stay professional at work.”

“Mmmmm.” Gabrielle’s voice was a honey-rich drawl. The line her nail had taken was followed by the firm press of a thumb, coaxing muscles to knot and unknot and relax. “Look at that. Putty in my hands.”

But when Sam shot a hurried look sideways Gabrielle wasn’t looking at the flesh she was kneading. She was looking right at Sam. And her eyes were pure, golden heat.

Another two minutes, and they managed a passable impression of watching the screen.

Sam couldn’t have said what they were watching. She was focussed on the magical fingers kneading into her skin, and _damn_ , did Gabrielle have a side job as a massage therapist or something, how was she this good?

Gabrielle traced little circles around the jut of Sam’s ankles.

Gabrielle just occasionally slid her hand up the calf a little way then back down after giving it a rub.

Gabrielle just maybe went slightly higher every time, leaving the flesh tingling in anticipation.

… Gabrielle got bored and bounced a bit, then slyly stole Sam’s hand.

Sam chuckled breathlessly, and allowed it.

“You are _so_ cleaning all the trash bins again tomorrow.”

Gabrielle rubbed little circles on the back of her hand, which shouldn’t have felt as good as it did.

“Just so long as I get to wash my hands thoroughly before getting them all over my goddess’ perfect skin.”

She kissed the inside of Sam’s palm. Tingly.

Sam swallowed hard, and nodded.

“Well, yeah, that’s—that’s prescribed hygiene protocol regardless.”

Gabrielle snickered, nuzzled her lips against the inside of Sam’s palm, and purred: “Ooo Sammy, talk big words to me.”

… Somehow she’d edged in closer to Sam so it was now mostly Sam’s knees that were across her lap.

Sam snorted. Then she shoved half-heartedly at Gabrielle’s face. “You should know all this. Didn’t you _read_ the employee handbook?”

Gabrielle grinned against the inside of Sam’s hand. “Is that the one I made paper hats out of, or the one I turned into paper aeroplanes?”

Then she kissed the underside of Sam’s wrist. While she was there.

“I think you—uh—tried for the Sydney opera house with that one.”

Gabrielle, unstopped, continued her lips’ leisurely journey on up the arm toward the inside of the elbow.

The suave effect was slightly ruined by the hopeful puppy-dog eyes that flashed up toward Sam just for a moment. Then down again. Like she couldn’t actually believe she was allowed to be there.

Sam closed her eyes, and drew in her breath and her thoughts and her inhibitions and her insecurities. Then she let them all out in a quiet sigh, and dipped her head in permission. Waiting.

Gabrielle made a small, uncertain squeak.

Then she moved: curling carefully in against Sam’s side, pressing a breathier and much more tentative kiss to her shoulder.

Sam, still unseeing, turned her face a little in the direction of Gabrielle’s warmth, lips half-parted, not quite trembling. Waiting.

“… Um,” said Gabrielle.

Sam’s hand was drawn into the cotton hammock of Gabrielle’s lap, and squeezed like a security blanket.

“I, uh. I have a confession.”

Sam waited a moment. Then she opened her eyes and pressed her lips together, feeling half silly and half cross.

… and more than a little scared. Because if Gabrielle didn’t know…

“Confession?”

“I. Uh.”

Gabrielle fidgetted with Sam’s fingers. For the first time all evening, her luminous golden eyes were hidden. Hidden behind lids, and hidden by self-doubt.

“Didn’tevenexpecttogetintoyourhouse,” Gabrielle mumbled. “Let alone…”

She gestured vaguely at her bare knee sticking out from under Sam’s shirt. Then at where it was all pressed up against Sam’s leg.

… And Sam was a callous thoughtless idiot.

What had she thought she’d been doing? A repeated emphatic “no”—or a constant shifting of the boundaries of “no”—or a wavering, ever-retreating line of consent—or a gradual yielding to a siege—was not the same thing as saying “this is what I enjoy and we are playing this game together”.

Self-absorbed. Too caught up in getting to play the lady for once. Forcing Gabrielle to pursue her, to guess or violate the terms of consent…

“… So I kinda… have no plan?” finished Gabrielle lamely. Which was a foreign and unnatural tone in her voice.

Because some games might seem harmless but had centuries of cissexist heteronormative baggage behind them.

Gabrielle fidgetted some more.

Because some games weren’t just games.

… but you couldn’t fix it by acknowledging that. You had to fix it by playing the game.

Sam snorted. “Well, when I woke up this morning I didn’t expect to have you here either, like... like this. So I guess we’re both playing by ear here.”

Gabrielle perked up slightly. “I do like your ears.”

She eyed the nearest one consideringly. She licked her lips.

Sam choked out a laugh and bowed forward in amusement. “You are the weirdest, possibly kinkiest, most infuriatingly adorable person I’ve ever met.”

Gabrielle beamed. “So that’s good, right?”

“Yeah, that’s—”

Then Gabrielle was darting forward, and a kiss landed on the dimple at the side of Sam’s mouth.

Sam blinked in shock. Then she sighed and uncurled, pulling Gabrielle in closer. “… that’s really good.”

Gabrielle’s mouth slipped aside at the last minute, curved and soft and laughing, sliding along Sam’s jaw. “No, no, wait, I have to kiss your ear first, I missed it!”

Sam snickered and caught Gabrielle’s chin, turning her face back centre to rub their noses together. “Isn’t there another part of my face you’d rather kiss instead?”

Gabrielle pouted adorably, then kissed Sam’s nose. “I don’t know, it’s spent _hours_ today telling me to take the trash out. It hurt my _feelings_ , Sammy. I think it needs to make it up to me.”

“Mmm.” Sam’s mouth traced over Gabrielle’s cheek. “How about you don’t have to do the trash tomorrow?”

Gabrielle pondered, humming, mouth hovering just next to Sam’s. Just over a dimple. “It _is_ an awful lot of heavy lifting.” (Her hand settled on Sam’s knee.) “And if I were to get all worn out tonight.” (And drifted slightly upward.) “After a 5:30 start.” (Definite stealthy upward trend.) “It just wouldn’t be fair.” (Lips nuzzled against the corner of Sam’s.) “I mean, we can’t all have your delicious manly muscles.” (Finger teased the lower hem of Sam’s big baggy shirt, and Sam shifted a bit uncomfortably, because Gabrielle’s hand was _right there_ and she was almost sure Gabrielle knew but— _manly muscles_ —and if she didn’t…) “You wouldn’t want to be _unfair_ to me, Samshine.”

“No,” said Sam, low and breathless and far too sincere. “Definitely not.”

And she turned her head that last half-inch.

Just as Gabrielle pulled back to exclaim brightly, “Oh hey! Do you even like girls? I mean, I never thought to ask, I just hit on you all the time and—”

“Oh my _fucking god_ , does this answer your question?”

And Sam was lunging forward, dragging her in by pliant waist and shoulder to cover Gabrielle’s cackling mouth with her own.

Gabrielle’s delicious fingers slid into Sam’s hair at once and she melted into it with enthusiasm, happy noises and gasps through the tail end of her laughter. Even when Sam shifted the angle or gasped in a breath Gabrielle’s hands were right there, demanding, locking and stroking and combing through her hair, digging into the back of her scalp to pull her back in, reverent and greedy and hot.

With some difficulty, Sam got just enough distance to ask, “Are you actually muttering _score, score, score_ against my tongue?”

“Sam kisses!” Gabrielle purred, curling hair around her fists. “Sam kisses are the best ever! Next to your hair of godlike perfection!”

“Still think you love my hair more than you love me.”

Gabrielle kissed her again, more fiercely, fire and earnestness that took Sam’s breath away. Then she pulled back just a little, eyes twinkling, to assert between nibbles and kisses, “Well, you see, true love takes time to develop and I’ve had so much more time to, mmm, get acquainted with Marjorie the Magnificent, we’re old friends you know, we’re, I need, you should let me and your kisses get to know each other a bit more. By kissing me,” she clarified, halfway into Sam’s lap by now. “Lots.”

Sam met each of the dizzying assault of kisses, smiling into them, stomach fluttering with delight and fear. “Wouldn’t want to, mm. Get in the way of you getting acquainted.”

Then she tugged Gabrielle the rest of the way into her lap, until she was straddling Sam’s powerful thighs—”Oh my god, Sammy, your eyes are even more adorable from up here!” And she laid her fingers on Gabrielle’s lips when she leaned in for another kiss.

“True love, huh?” Sam said, serious. “Think we’ll get that far?”

Gabrielle rolled her eyes, and completely refused to be serious. “I was just talking about your hair, ma’am,” she said primly, and booped Sam’s nose. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

Sam smiled, despite herself. “Gabrielle—”

“Hey, did you know I’m naked under your clothes?”

“… Thank you, I am _painfully_ aware.”

“Just sayin’.”

“Please don’t wiggle like that.”

“Mmm.” Gabrielle wiggled again and leaned in for another kiss, softer. Which didn’t help with a certain _pressing_ problem that was only just hidden by Sam’s oversized shirt. “‘Cos I noticed you aren’t doing much with your hands and I’d hate to think they were shy.”

Gabrielle’s own hands curved around the backs of Sam’s (too-broad) shoulders—stroked down, cuddled in against her.

Sam bunched her hands against her thighs, tipped her head back, and groaned.

Gabrielle went very still on top of her.

“I mean,” she said, suddenly uncertain again, “unless you don’t—I mean, just kissing is fine too.”

Sam swallowed.

“Um. Shit. I should. Should I put some clothes on? I’m sorry, you’re all tired and I just shoved my way into your house and—I mean you probably don’t even LIKE girls. Or. Me. I. Uh.”

“ _Gabrielle_.”

“I know, I know, I’m short and annoying and loud and, and you’re—” She waved a hand vaguely up and down Sam’s body, like there were no words to describe exactly what Sam was.

Sam broke in through the flurry of words by catching the hand, and kissing it. “Yes. You are.”

Then she looked up. Gabrielle’s eyes were wide and soft and far more worried than they should be.

Sam framed Gabrielle’s face with her hands, thumbs cradling her cheeks.

“You are short,” she said, and pressed a chaste kiss to her mouth, “and loud,” another, “and annoying,” until Gabrielle’s mouth softened under hers, “and frustrating,” and opened just a little, “and you drive me insane.”

The next kiss wasn’t nearly so chaste.

“And _of course_ I like you,” Sam growled, when they broke apart.

Gabrielle whimpered a bit.

“And maybe insecure,” she mumbled without looking at Sam, once she had her breath back. “A bit. Sometimes.”

“Yeah, well.” Sam kissed her cheek, her jaw. “You’re not the only one. That’s okay.”

Gabrielle made a happier noise and tipped back her head, for easy throat access.

“You’re all soft,” she mumbled, hands sliding around Sam’s sides to just tease along the sides of her breasts. “I approve.”

Sam paused, with her mouth on Gabrielle’s collar bone, and closed her eyes. Because there was one part of her that definitely wasn’t soft right now and how did Gabrielle keep distracting her from saying what she really should have said long before they’d got to this point?

“There should be more Sam bosom in the world,” Gabrielle declared, a happy absent-minded murmur as if she wasn’t really listening to what she was saying. “And more Sam hair. And face. And butt. Can I kiss that later too?”

“Gabrielle. I just need—stop for a minute. Please?”

Gabrielle froze. Again. Because Sam was really bad at this and kept hurting her. And might be about to hurt her worse.

Sam took a deep breath, and removed her shirt.

“… I think your definition of stop isn’t the same as mine,” babbled Gabrielle far too fast. “Hel _lo_ beautifuls!”

“What, are you going to name them too now?”

“This one’s Sophie,” said Gabrielle promptly, dropping a kiss to one, “and this is Maude.”

“…. That was quick.”

“You’re very inspiring.”

“They aren’t—” Sam bit her lip. Then she caught Gabrielle’s hands, to make her stop. To catch her eyes, and make sure she’d understand. “They’re kind of asymmetrical right now, but apparently that will probably… sort itself out. I’ve only been on the hormones for about a year.”

“Then I love them even more,” Gabrielle said at once, and kissed them again. “Because they need love and cuddles to grow.”

“ _Gabrielle_.”

“What? They’re yours!”

“I’m trying to tell you—I need to make sure you know—”

“What, that?” Gabrielle glanced down at the bulge in Sam’s pants that was no longer hidden by the loose shirt. “Oh, I’ll get around to naming her later, don’t worry.”

“… that’s it?”

Gabrielle shrugged. “I like dicks too. I have a whole drawer full of them! Can I kiss you now?”

Sam rolled her eyes, but couldn’t stop the relieved dizzy grin creeping over her face. “‘Oh, I am a good virtuous lesbian lady, I should never have to see that many dicks in my life,’” she mocked.

Gabrielle wrinkled her nose. “What, dicks are hilarious. Guys getting all invested in their dicks is hilarious. Especially when it’s Dean. I like _you_.”

“You’re hilarious,” Sam retorted stupidly, and kissed her. Hard.

Gabrielle squeaked into her mouth, then snickered and ran her hands all over Sam’s bare back. To which Sam—sure of herself for the first time—had to retaliate by putting her hands firmly on Gabrielle’s thighs and sliding on up to the hem.

On the laptop, something exploded.

“Ugh,” muttered Gabrielle, kissing wetly into Sam’s mouth, “What even is this movie, what are we watching, why is it still here make it go away Sammy.”

Sam leaned forward, one arm sliding protectively around Gabrielle’s back, and groped around until she found the laptop screen and slammed it down without having to quite stop kissing. This had the added bonus of letting her gather Gabrielle in even closer against her, sliding up toward her hips, and rucking the tee up over Gabrielle’s thighs.

“I have,” she growled into the side of Gabrielle’s lips, “absolutely no idea what we were watching.”

“I think there were aliens,” Gabrielle chirped, nipping at Sam’s lip, slyly trying to work a hand in between their bodies. “Or maybe dogs.”

“Maybe both?” Sam spread her hands (large, so large, but right now that didn’t feel like a bad thing out over the small of Gabrielle’s back, and slid them slowly upward. “Or maybe banshees.”

Gabrielle sighed happily, breathy and half-voiced, leaning back encouragingly into Sam’s hands. “Banshee alien dogs. I could write that movie.”

“Might watch it.” Sam took advantage, leaning forward to trail soft kisses along her neck. “Might be too busy with this.”

Gabrielle whined, nipping at Sam’s jaw. “But _Sammy_ , it’d be _epic_.” Sam’s hands crept around toward the front of Gabrielle’s body, still trailing upward, rucking the fabric into deeper and deeper waves. “I’ll—I’ll cast a _Bernese Mountain Dog_ in the main role.” Sam let the shirt fall, hands sliding down over the tops of Gabrielle’s spread thighs, down her legs, thumbs pressing into their undersides. “Her name would—would be Florence, and she would be the grumpiest thing ever to grump.”

Sam bit her neck, sliding her hands back up. Which shut her up nicely, turning the chatter into quiet happy noises. For all of about ten seconds.

“… So. So you _do_ like girls then?”

“I am about five seconds away from ripping your damn shirt off, make a deduction.”

“Technically it’s _your_ shirt. I mean. It was only on loan. You should take it back.”

Sam arched an eyebrow at her. “Well then, by all means, remove _my_ shirt.”

Gabrielle lifted her arms and looked expectant.

Sam gave her a Look.

“ _Sam_.” Gabrielle wiggled. “I’m still clothed. Why must you hurt me this way?”

Sam smirked. Then she leaned in to kiss under Gabrielle’s ear, which made her shiver and moan.

“I don’t know,” she murmured, hot and more breath than word. “You’ve been kinda a tease.” One finger trailed its winding way up Gabrielle’s inner thigh, teasing at the edge of warm damp hair, curving off and up into the crease of her hip to the sound of a pleading whimper. “Could be it’s time for some payback.”

“I take it back,” Gabrielle complained. “All of it. You’re _evil_. You’re an evil goddess of evil _evilness_. Remove my shirt this minute, woman!”

Sam snorted laughter despite herself.

“You know you’re kind of a brat,” she said. “How’m I going to keep you in line at work if you think you can just get away with things by—”

Gabrielle kissed her.

“—by _that_.”

“You could _discipline_ me.”

“…”

There was a very charged pause.

Then Sam gave in, and ran both hands fast and light up inside Gabrielle’s shirt, over the curves of her body, to pull the shirt off over her head.

Gabrielle immediately bounced and did a wild fist-pump.

“I got Sam Winchester to tear off my clothes! I am the STEALTHIEST!”

“Which bit was the stealthy bit? Stripping down in my kitchen, begging me to take your shirt off, or trying to get in my pants for months?”

“All part of the masterplan, Sammygirl.” Gabrielle melted in happily against Sam’s chest, to kiss and nibble her way back up her neck. Delicious, delicious skin-on-skin, soft and warm and thrilling with life. “Which I totally had.”

Sam shivered and buried her face in the side of Gabrielle’s neck, wrapping her hands around Gabrielle’s back. “Your master plan to seduce me?”

“What, it worked, didn’t it? Mmm, all this lovely skin…” Her hands roamed over Sam’s sides, up to her shoulders and down again.

“Maybe. Probably. I’d say so.”

Gabrielle purred into Sam’s neck. Then kissed her shoulder. “I’m sleeping my way to the top,” she pronounced smugly. “Boardroom lunches, here I come!”

Sam groaned, shifting restlessly under the warm cling of Gabrielle’s thighs. “I’m a stepping stone now?”

Gabrielle giggled. Then she leaned back just enough to boop Sam’s nose, which coincidentally pushed her hips forward far enough on Sam’s lap for some really interesting pressure. “You are a ladder, dumpling. A corporate ladder. Which is why I get to climb you like one.”

Sam snickered, ran a hand down to the small of Gabrielle’s back and shamelessly pushed her forward, rolling her hips. “And why— _shit_ —why you’d need one to kiss me if we were both standing up right now.”

Gabrielle whined, protest and delight at once. She moved with Sam, repeated the movement as Sam’s other hand came up to catch at her breast, tossed her head back and let Sam take her weight as she closed her eyes and made the most perfect noises.

“Sa—Sam,” she panted, “Getting your nice clean pants all wet.”

Sam grunted an intoxicated acknowledgement, kissing her way down Gabrielle’s neck toward her own hand, because yes, between the two of them that was definitely a thing that was happening. And Gabrielle was _hot_ and _right there_ and if there hadn’t been that flimsy stretchy fabric in the way…

“Uncomfortable?” she managed, purring the word just above a dusky aureole.

Gabrielle whined and arched her back just a little further, pleading for Sam’s mouth to slip down. “Can think of… of better ideas.”

“Really,” Sam murmured, and dragged her tongue over the nipple.

Gabrielle buried her fingers in Marjorie and went incoherent.

Sam was pretty sure this was perfect.

Which was probably why Gabrielle, after a long bright minute of clinging and crying out and pushing up against Sam’s mouth (already watering with the ideas of other sounds she could wring out of Gabrielle, other places it could explore), abruptly escaped and slithered backward off Sam’s lap to land hard on her knees on the floor.

“… Ow,” she commented. “You need a rug here.”

Sam blinked at her, dazed. Then she reached for her. “What are you doing down there, come back.”

Gabrielle snickered, and hooked her chin over Sam’s knee. “Need me to draw you a diagram?”

“ _Oh_.”

Gabrielle dissolved into helpless giggles: hands clinging to Sam’s knees, forehead falling between them to rest against the couch, delighted breathless peels of laughter shaking her body and Sam’s legs. “Oh my god I _love_ you.”

“ _Gabrielle_.” Sam leaned forward, hands slipping shakily into Gabrielle’s hair, mouth pressed to its sweet half-dry curls, and held her there, and ached at the sheer brightness of her.

“What, what, it’s nothing new, I’ve been saying that for weeks.” Gabrielle slid her hands a little way up Sam’s thighs and lifted her head, nose to nose with Sam. “If it’s okay. Sam, Sammy. My most beautiful magnificent Sam, is this okay? More important, does it sound _fun_?”

Sam bit back the automatic _yes_ and forced herself to actually think about it. Because it wasn’t _always_ okay. She wasn’t always comfortable being touched, explored. Being expected to like it. But with Gabrielle—with this wondrous, smart-mouthed girl grinning up at her all adoringly from between her legs…

“Yeah,” she panted. “Yes, Gabrielle. That sounds… awesome. Just. Hands and mouths for now? It’s been a while. I’d kind of like to ease into anything else.”

Gabrielle’s eyes _gleamed_. Then it was an awkward giggly scrabble between both of them to get Sam’s pants off and kicked away to the other side of the room, and Gabrielle was delightedly kissing her way along Sam’s stomach and cradling her hips with her hands and cooing loving nonsense to Sam’s dick.

… Which was apparently also a girl. In Gabrielle’s eyes.

“‘Sweet lady’? Really?”

“Mmm,” purred Gabrielle, nuzzling into the hollow of Sam’s hip. “My beautiful Amazonian sweetheart.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“What, she could totally be an Amazon, look—” running a light fingertip along the underside from balls to head, “—she’s even curved like a bow.”

“Oh god.” Sam thumped her head back against the sofa and closed her eyes, caught between laughter and hitching her hips forward into the touch.

“I love her already,” Gabrielle declared, and pressed a fond kiss to the hot, wet tip.

“ _Gabrielle_.”

Sam felt her lips curve as she smirked. Then she was kissing her way down one side and trailing her tongue back up the other, down and up, down and up in a half-satisfying tease that had Sam digging her fingers into the sofa cushions to keep from pleading.

“Ugh,” she whined after a minute, “you’re going to name that too, aren’t you.”

“Mmm,” Gabrielle hummed, the faintest of vibrations against one side. “Not today. Have to get to know her first!”

A hand joined in, tracing fingers over Sam’s thighs, down to cup her balls and up to circle loosely around the base. Gabrielle’s mouth hovered, hot and open, just by the head.

“I mean, it’s been a while since I had a dick to play with,” she observed. “We’re going to have such fun together, she and I. I’m going to get to know you _really_ well, aren’t I, darling?”

“Stop sweet-talking my dick, you madwoman.”

Gabrielle snickered. And obliged. By finding something else to do with her mouth.

Sam… gave up, and let Gabrielle do as she liked.

As predicted, Sam lost herself entirely very, very fast.

It wasn’t so much skill or technique. Not that Sam had an amazing array of experiences to compare it to. Gabrielle couldn’t fit much more than the head in her mouth, and there was almost no rhythm to it. But the sheer delight with which she got her mouth as many places as possible, the little soft kisses that she peppered all over Sam’s stomach and thighs when she was catching her breath, the little gasps and purrs she made and the way she was laughing and reverent at the same time with almost every touch, the erratic squeezes and strokes of one hand and the way the other couldn’t seem to stop petting Sam’s hip or side, soothing and amazed and soft—the beautiful eyes glancing up and down between Sam’s face and what she was doing, crinkled at the edges, so very _here_ in the moment, with Sam, loving it, loving _her_ …

Yeah, that did it for Sam pretty quick.

“My favourite new toy,” murmured Gabrielle, in the aftermath, after licking everything clean until Sam had to flinch and stop her.

“Mad,” Sam reiterated weakly, panting, tangling her fingers through soft bouncy hair.

“Mmm.” Gabrielle nosed her way happily up Sam’s stomach and left gentle kisses over—Sophie or Maude, Sam had forgotten which was which—then clambered back up onto Sam’s lap to press insistent kisses up her neck, toward her mouth.

Sam wrapped herself around her and clung, maybe too tight, opening her mouth under the kisses without hesitation. She felt heavy and languid and content, and the vibrating eagerness of Gabrielle’s kisses had a pace she couldn’t match.

“Gimme a minute,” she managed, hands sliding up and down on Gabrielle’s back.”

“Pfft, you don’t _have_ to—”

Sam bit Gabrielle’s lip. “Idiot.”

Gabrielle shuddered all over. Then she shoved Sam back against the sofa and went to town on her mouth. Like it was all she’d been waiting to do for _weeks_.

Which very nearly coaxed Sam’s dick back into the game again. Especially given Gabriel’s thighs were _right there_ , hot and damp at the top of Sam’s, and her hips were rocking desperately back and forth, and…

It was only polite to keep one hand splayed out over Gabriel’s tailbone and slip the other one around to cup her, to let her press the slick fierce heat in the centre of her against Sam’s fingertips while Gabrielle whined and complained incoherently into Sam’s mouth.

“What,” Sam teased, pulling back just enough to grin at her, fingers pattering softly on either side of her swollen lips, “not enough?”

“ _Saaaaam._ ”

Sam squeezed her fingers together gently, tugging, pretending to think. “Maybe if I…”

“I’m going to go find a _cucumber_ in a minute, Sam!”

“ _Hygiene protocol_ , sweetheart.”

Gabrielle’s eyes flew wide. “Did you just call me—”

At which point Sam, who had been stealthily shifting her weight and gathering her muscles, flipped her onto her back and pinned her to the couch.

“Uh-uh,” she murmured, against Gabrielle’s stomach. “ _My_ turn.”

Gabrielle yelped, something halfway between Sam’s name and a moan. Then she stretched out under Sam, smirking and panting, arching her back and flopping her arms back over her head, while Sam admired the view and kissed her way hurriedly downward.

“About _time_ ,” Gabrielle complained, hooking thighs haphazardly around Sam’s shoulders and back. “Do you how long I’ve been— _oh_.”

Sam didn’t bother with warm-up, under the circumstances. She went straight for the centre, firm and sloppy.

Some things about sex, Sam could take them or leave them. But this—she _loved_ doing this. The rich scent and taste surrounding her, the thighs straining against her fingers and cheeks. The feel of the give and press of it throbbing under her tongue, delving and pushing and teasing and working out what was good by the sounds, by the clench of muscles, by the way the body strove and writhed under her touch.

In this case, because it was Gabrielle, a lot of the noises were _babble_.

“Sammy, _Sam_ , oh god you’re brilliant, see I always have the best ideas I _told_ you, could have been doing this weeks ago my perfect goddess, oh _shit_ what was that you just did oh god I am so going to pin you to the bed and cover you with kisses and and and feed you raspberries until your mouth goes pink, Sam, Sam, you’re my girlfriend now right? Tell me we’re official Sam, tell me I can kiss you all the time in front of everyone and _shit_ ride your back in public and duck under your skirt and eat you out and _god_ I am so introducing you to my favourite drawer of treasures Sam _fingers_ now, _fingers please_ I want _in_ , _Saaaaam_ —”

Sam reared back her head and pinned Gabrielle’s thighs with her hands. “This _girlfriend_ is going to bite you if you can’t keep quiet for two seconds.”

Gabrielle went very quiet.

Then, on a broken kind of a whisper: “Please?”

And _there_ was Sam’s dick again.

“That’s…” Sam said, and had to clear her throat. “That’s… very interesting.”

Gabrielle stared down the length of her body, panting, pleading.

Sam swallowed. Then she lowered her head, not breaking eye contact, to nuzzle ever so lightly over the soaking wet folds between Gabrielle’s legs.

“Fingers, was it?” she whispered.

Gabrielle nodded frantically, mute.

Sam turned her head a little to the side, opening her mouth hot and damp against Gabrielle’s inner thigh. Just a hint of teeth, but it had Gabrielle slamming her head back against the armrest with a moan even before two of Sam’s fingers slid home.

Her voice turned into a low, drawling babble of pleas and _yes there_ and Sam’s own name, as Sam nipped and bit and sucked, and worked hard and firm with fingers and thumb, and braced one foot on the floor to put the strength of her arm behind her thrusts against the insistent grinding of Gabrielle’s hips, as deep as to her knuckles.

Sam didn’t often feel an active drive to really fuck something, though she’d enjoyed it well enough from time to time. But here, right now, she could really feel just how good it would be to join her whole body to the way Gabrielle was moving right now, to drive and build that rhythm together. To bury herself in Gabrielle in every way possible.

She latched on, hard, teeth and tongue working together, drawing the flesh into her mouth. Gabrielle yelped and arched up off the sofa, squeezing tight around Sam’s fingers. Shock, and shock, and shock again, and Sam rode her through it, nuzzling and sucking at that one place, more and more gently as she came down. Then, when Gabrielle was gasping and starting to go limp, broad gentler laps of the tongue around where her fingers were buried, until Gabrielle shuddered and whined, and Sam loomed up over her.

“Don’t take them out,” Gabrielle moaned; and Sam left her fingers buried deep as she soothed Gabrielle’s breathing with long, slow kisses.

“Mmmm,” murmured Gabrielle at last, and curled lazy satisfied fingers into Sam’s hair. “ _Girlfriend_.”

“Was that me or my hair this time?”

Gabrielle’s mouth curved, slow and rich, though her eyes didn’t open. “You sound all smu-ug,” she carolled.

“Look who’s talk-ing,” Sam mimicked. Then she looked down Gabrielle’s body to the happy splay of her thighs, and smirked.

Drawing out her fingers gently, to the faint grumble of complaint, she trailed them down one thigh to the knee then back up again. Then she pressed a thumb, firm and deliberate, into one of the vivid bite marks that positively littered Gabrielle’s inner thighs.

Gabrielle whined, and wriggled delightedly.

“I’d say I feel bad about that,” Sam commented, “but _someone_ had hold of my hair and was shoving my face in harder against their legs and demanding more, so.”

“Oh, right, that was me.” Gabrielle beamed at her. Then she nestled her head in against Sam’s shoulder. “So. I’m staying at my girlfriend’s place tonight.”

“Seems wise.”

“And borrowing her clothes in the morning.”

“You’ll drown.”

“Everybody at the store will be able to see,” Gabrielle declared with glee. “Sam. _Sam_. Bed now. You must carry me, you _broke me_.”

“Is that so?” Sam dipped in for a kiss, softer now, tasting of smiles.

“Don’t pretend you can’t, I’ve seen how much you can toss over your shoulder at work.”

“Mm.” Sam kissed her neck, her shoulder, the rise of her breast. “Girlfriends don’t go over shoulders. Girlfriends need special treatment.”

“Damn straight.” Then, as Sam hauled herself to her feet and slipped her arms under Gabrielle’s sprawling body—”aww, Sammy. Princess carry! Am I your princess?”

Sam pretended to consider it. “Doesn’t that make things a bit weird, if I’m your queen?”

“No, no. See, you’re the queen, I’m the princess consort! Or, you’re the goddess and I’m the princess who serves you.”

Sam nodded solemnly, nudging open her bedroom door with one foot. “Or, I’m the queen, and you’re my fairy. Who gets into mischief and goes on adventures with me.”

Gabrielle looked delighted as Sam dumped her unceremoniously on the bed. “I’m a fairy?”

“Definitely.” Sam crawled up after her and flopped against her side. “A loud, short, annoying, brilliant, perfect fairy.”

Gabrielle winked at her, then promptly stole her favourite pillow. A quick wrestling match ensued, which resulted in Sam lying on her back and Gabrielle perched, again, on Sam’s thighs.

Sam sort of suspected that was going to become a thing. Sam was definitely okay with the idea.

“By the way,” said Gabrielle, as if there had been no interruption, tracing fingers all over Sam’s lower stomach, “you do know you’re completely and utterly and divinely and amazingly and stunningly gorgeous, right?”

“I. Uh.” Sam bit her lip, and found she couldn’t quite meet Gabrielle’s eyes.

“ _Sam_ ,” Gabrielle gasped, clasping hands to her bosom. “Sammy Sam _Sam_.”

Then she gave Sophie (or Maude?) a gentle pat, and went back to looking appalled.

“ _Sam_ ,” she added, for good measure.

It was sort of impossible not to laugh. Even in bewilderment.

“This is a _travesty_ ,” Gabrielle declared sternly, and leaned forward to plant her hands on the mattress on either side of Sam’s shoulders. “Clearly it is my _divine duty_ to devote the rest of my days to convincing my goddess of how _wonderful and amazing and perfect_ she is.”

“Oh my god.” Sam covered her face with one hand, laughing helplessly. “You’re insane. I’ve fallen for an adorable crazy woman. That’s my life now.”

“Waaaaaait.” Gabrielle pried the hand away, eyes gleaming and dancing. “Go back, go back, you’ve _fallen_ for me?”

“Uh. Maybe?”

“Never let me hear you say that my schemes aren’t _utter perfection and genius_.”

“Even the one with the cat litter, the parakeet, and the hammock?”

“… If you love me you’ll forget about that. Oh look! Sophie and Maude! I’m so sorry, ladies, were you feeling neglected? Hmm,” considering them with her head on one side, “I think Maude can be patient a little longer.”

And she slid back just far enough to duck her head and give Sophie some detailed, reverent attention.

“You know that isn’t always going to work to change the subject,” Sam groaned, tracing fingers over Gabrielle’s cheek.

“Sophie can be a little bit of a brat, you see,” Gabrielle murmured into soft skin, “when she doesn’t get what she wants. I can relate.”

Sam let her head fall back slowly against the mattress, closing her eyes as her fingers curled back into golden-brown hair. “Yeah, don’t I know it.”

Gabrielle hummed and smirked, cupped Sophie reverently, and got a thumb in on the action. “So _obviously_ I will be an absolute _angel_ at work now.”

Sam moaned and arched, body thrumming with the contented warmth of maybe-a-second-time. “Wouldn’t put it past you to—wouldn’t mind if you weren’t always a _complete_ angel.”

Gabrielle immediately leaped to, “So I can seduce you in the break room?”

“… no.”

“I mean, your feet might need another rub.” A consoling pat to Maude. “Which would mean I’d need to get down. Under the table. Again. And see to matters. Below the waist.”

Sam opened one eye and squinted at her.

“Um. That might… need to happen,” she found herself saying, because her new girlfriend was a terrible influence and was all pretty and flushed and tousled and happy. “Though. Sophie and Maude might feel neglected at work too. I mean, ogling probably won’t cut it.”

“Oh no.” Gabrielle nuzzled Maude, sending sharper little bolts running under Sam’s skin. “I wouldn’t let them feel neglected. They are my beautiful ladies and need all the reverence and devotion.”

“Mmm,” Sam agreed vaguely, her own hands starting to explore again. “Sure we’d all appreciate it.”

“Gotta keep down workplace stress,” Gabrielle added conscientiously. “Practically a health and safety issue.”

Then she experimented with tongue.

“And you know what,” she said brightly after a delicious minute or two. “If I get _too_ naughty at work. I’ve got a remote-controlled vibrating bullet somewhere. You could always punish me with that if you liked.”

… Sam tipped her over into the blankets again.

**Author's Note:**

> Also [gogetthegun on tumblr did some beautiful amazing (nsfw) art of trans Sam](http://goandgetthegun.tumblr.com/post/164027540689/her-name-is-sam-winchester-and-shes-a-hero-for)! It wasn't made for this fic but it is definitely now my headcanon image for it and it fits the tone so well that I beseeched permission of the artist to link it from here. RUN AND ADMIRE!


End file.
